


Darshan

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coda, Episode: s07e06 Treachery Faith and the Great River, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: Weyoun 6 lives.





	Darshan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vortaesthetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vortaesthetic/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 Star Trek Secret Santa

That they make it back to the station at all is something of a minor miracle. Although Odo is insistent that he is not a god, Weyoun cannot help but look upon this turn of events—and his own continued existence—as evidence of divinity. Odo, sits in the seat next to him, piloting the runabout on a docking vector towards the station. The silence between them had grown, not strained but weightier, thick with things unsaid, the air gaining almost physical presence over the hours as they neared their destination. Now only minutes from docking, Weyoun speaks.

“Thank you, Odo.” He’s not sure why he says it. There is so much else he needs to say, and ‘thank you’ hardly covers any of it. Perhaps that is why, then. For all that it is insufficient, it is also the most comprehensive, the most succinct. 

“Your welcome,” says Odo. He does not ask what Weyoun is offering thanks for, and Weyoun is grateful that he understands.

They dock. Odo tells him that Starfleet personnel are waiting for them outside the airlock. Weyoun nods and follows. 

He expects the process to be long, grueling. He will endure it, bear up against whatever indignities and degradations the Federation throws at him, will accept without complaint the anger and the suspicion and the cruelty of the Starfleet personnel. He promised to provide information on the Dominion, after all, and he shall, without hesitation, whatever the Federation asks.

For Odo, and, he thinks, strangely enough, for himself, for the small spark of defiance that led him to choose this path also reminds him that, as much as he has chosen to give his loyalty to Odo, it was his choice to leave the Dominion, his choice that led him to this Federation station, and his choice to follow Odo. That means something, too, he thinks, even if he is not sure what yet. He will face the consequences of his own actions, freely taken, no matter how unpleasant those consequences might be. 

But the expected hostility does not come. Instead, there is quiet. There are three men waiting when the airlock opens. One Weyoun recognizes from Dominion intelligence on the Federation. Captain Sisko is considered a dangerous man by his former superiors. Weyoun feels a chill run down his spine, and his anxiety only increases as the two other men—actually a human woman and a Bolian, but Vorta as a rule rarely paid much attention to such distinctions—move to escort him away.

Weyoun glances back, face still carefully schooled neutral but threatening to slip into a nervous smile at any moment. Odo is talking quietly to Captain Sisko, but the stutter of movement catches his eye.

“It’s alright,” he says, looking Weyoun square in the eyes, “They’re just taking you to the infirmary to have Doctor Bashir look you over. I’ll be along as soon as I’ve worked out a few things with Captain Sisko.”

Weyoun can feel himself blushing as he turns around to follow the Security men away. He is behaving foolishly. Had he not told himself that he would bear whatever the Federation did to him? He did not need Odo to reassure him, to offer him comfort. To do so is not Odo’s job, and it is certainly not Weyoun’s place to ask such of a god. 

The station is quiet as Weyoun and his escort move from the docking ring to the Promenade. It is the middle of the night, station time; the lights are dim and the corridors deserted. It occurs to Weyoun that Captain Sisko, or Odo, or someone else entirely, might not want the station’s population to know he is here. His mind flicks through possibilities, scenarios, and outcomes, and he cannot figure out if this would be a good thing or a bad one. 

The escorts stop and Weyoun glances around. The room is empty but for one man in a blue uniform, professional smile pressed neatly across his face.

“Hello,” says the man as he approaches, “I’m Doctor Bashir. I’m just going to give you a checkup if that’s alright with you.”

Weyoun nods, unreasonably reassured by the name Odo had mentioned and is led over to an exam table. It’s not as if there is any real choice, he thinks. The choice is made, he is in the hands of Starfleet now. He is theirs to do with as they wish. Of course, he hopes, he desperately hopes, that—should his new captors decide to do anything too invasive or damaging to him—Odo would come to his defense, but he has no assurances. And Odo is not here. He is off with the Captain.

But the doctor’s hands and scans and voice are surprisingly gentle as he questions and examines. And before long he proclaims Weyoun fit to go with nothing more than the injunction to have a meal and a good night’s rest. Weyoun doubts that the Doctor has much experience dealing with Vorta anatomy but he will accept the judgment as accurate. 

Odo is waiting outside the infirmary. 

“Well?” he asks gruffly.

“The doctor says I am well, only in need of food and rest.”

“That is easily managed. May I show you to your quarters?”

“Yes, of course, thank you.”

They walk down the deserted promenade in silence, making their way towards the residential areas of the station. It is not until they reach Weyoun’s new quarters—small but neat and serviceable with all the standard amenities of a Federation station—that they again speak. They settle on the small sofa in the sitting area, Weyoun, as per the Doctor’s orders, with a plate out of the replicator on his lap. He tried to restrain his excitement at the more diversified offerings of the station replicators, but he suspects Odo noticed. 

“Captain Sisko has agreed to allow you to stay on the station, officially in my custody,” Odo says finally. “Provided you comply with a few conditions.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t you want to hear what they are, first?” Weyoun only looks expectantly and waits, so Odo continues. “You are to undergo a thorough debriefing with Captain Sisko. They wish to gather information regarding the Dominion for the war effort.”

Weyoun nods. “Of course.” An expected condition. “I said I would.” 

Odo must see some of the apprehension in his eyes. “It will just be questions, Weyoun. And I will be there if you wish. You do not have to speak with Captain Sisko on your own.”

The relief is nearly overwhelming, but he does his best not to show it on his face. “I would appreciate it very much, thank you,” he says instead. “What were the other conditions?”

“That you stay on the station, and that you are banned from visiting restricted areas of the station. Although,” Odo hastens to add, “Restricted areas are restricted to most civilian personnel.”

Weyoun feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “So I am only a prisoner, then, not an unduly bound one, then?” He regrets it the moment he says it. Odo flinches at the words. “I’m sorry,” he says hastily, “I should not have spoken so, it was uncalled for.”

“No,” says Odo, “No, it’s quite alright.” 

Weyoun looks down with a start as he feels a hand gently close on his own. Then he lightly squeezes back. 

“I’m sorry,” says Odo.

“Do not be.” Weyoun tries to impress all his sincerity into his words and expression. “I have made my choice in coming here and to serve you, and I do not regret it. And you have been far kinder than you need have been towards me. Thank you.”

Odo’s eyes are sad and his mouth presses thin. “I have done precisely as I should have.” He seems to realize that his grip on Weyoun’s hand has tightened almost to the point of pain and lets go. “I hope . . .” he trails off. “I am glad you are here,” he says finally, the expression honest if a bit stiff.

Weyoun smiles. “Thank you, Odo.” It means more than he can say, to hear that.


End file.
